


make it up as we go along

by janie_tangerine



Category: Supernatural, Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Biting, Crossover, F/M, permanent scarring, wacky crossover ship is wacky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>wherein Rebekah hadn’t thought that asking someone if she could buy him a drink would lead her to make a deal a with former angel who doesn’t understand a pick-up line when he hears one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	make it up as we go along

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 round at [xover_exchange](http://xover_exchange.livejournal.com) on LJ for the prompts _Rebekah/Castiel (gen or romantic), lust_ and _let’s make a deal_ ; spoilers up to 7x02 for SPN and 3x09 for VD. Title from Talking Heads; nothing belongs to me (sadly).

It takes Rebekah one look to realize that he’s _different_.

He looks human, but something tells her that he isn’t. Rebekah has been a vampire long enough to feel certain things, and even if there’s apparently nothing out of the ordinary… he still doesn’t feel entirely right. Something about him is strange.

Which isn’t the vine-shaped scar covering half of his face. That one’s only a pity, because otherwise he’d look gorgeous. Dark brown untamed hair, blue eyes staring down at his glass of whiskey that he isn’t drinking, and those are some _nice_ blue eyes. His lips are full, slightly cracked until he takes a sip of his drink and wets them. True, the obviously-bought-at-Goodwill-clothes aren’t much of a sight, but it’s not as if Rebekah is dressed any better. When she decided to run from Mystic Falls after being revived by mere chance by a kid who found her body and (stupidly, for him) took out the dagger, she hadn’t brought the fancy clothes along. It hasn’t been exactly a fun time from then until now either.

She wonders if he’s up for a talk.

Then again, why not? He doesn’t look as if he has something to do. _She_ doesn’t have something to do either except trying to drink down her sorrows and see if it makes her forget that she has lost what has remained of her family. Until now, it hasn’t worked. She might as well go talk to the guy and find out what exactly he is.

“Can I buy you a drink?” she asks, moving closer and taking the next seat.

He turns in her direction, raises an eyebrow as if he’s confused. “I already have one.”

Great. She apparently managed to find the one person on this planet who doesn’t know a pick up line when they hear it. 

“You feel lonely,” he says all of a sudden, and she feels punched in the gut. “And betrayed.”

Her stare meets his, and there’s indeed something _other_ in the way he’s looking at her with those huge, sad blue eyes. He’d resemble one of those angels in Reinassance paintings, if it wasn’t for half of his face being ruined.

“How do you know that?” she answers, keeping her voice low.

“I… used to be different from the way I am now. You aren’t human, are you? I can feel it all over. But maybe you used to be different, too.”

“How you do you _know_ that?”

She was right. He isn’t as normal as he looks like. And if he’s some kind of an empath, then he’s a damn good one since it took him exactly three seconds to come up with his diagnosis. But he hasn’t made a hostile move, so she’ll try not to be too defensive even if she’s tempted. Oh, she’s tempted, and her first thought is to flee, but then she remembers that she has nowhere to go. Or no one to talk. If it ends bad, she isn’t losing anything.

“I told you. I used to be different.”

“Different how? You’re a witch? Or maybe you’re some other species? You don’t look much like a werewolf to me.” Not that werewolves are empaths, so it can’t be that one. 

“No. And you wouldn’t believe me. It used to be a much better club.” He almost sighs as he drinks a sip from his glass.

“Try me.”

He looks at her again for one second, looking as if he’s debating whether he should share or not. Then he shrugs, his entire body language screaming _you know what, who cares_. “I used to have wings.”

Rebekah almost spits out her own beer. “Do you mean… angels? You’re not being serious, are you? Please.” Vampires are one thing, ghosts are another, werewolves are another, witches are another one still, but for crying out loud… _angels_? That’s a bit too much, even if he doesn’t seem as if he’s some insane person hallucinating it. And when he had found out how she felt and what she was, she had given no hint whatsoever. More or less. Also, it’s not as if she hadn’t thought he’d look like one if not for the scar exactly five minutes ago. Maybe he means fairies. But it just sounds ridiculous. Also she hasn’t seen a fairy in her entire life and it’s been _long_.

“Once I could have shown them to you. Now I can’t. But I still can feel… things. And I still don’t understand why would you want to buy me a drink.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “That isn’t rocket science. You don’t look as if you have much to do. Neither have I. And I felt it, too. That you aren’t completely human. I figured we could talk.”

“And what are you? I’m afraid that I can’t sense it precisely anymore. I just know that you’re something different.”

Rebekah figures that it’s good enough. As it is, if this so-called-former-angel kills her, it’s not as if she’ll lose anything. Not when she knows the truth about Klaus and when everyone else has made clear that they don’t give a fuck. Not that she expects them to. 

She bares her teeth for a second.

He doesn’t flinch.

“I understand.”

“Shouldn’t you make sure that I’m not dangerous?” She’s fairly surprised. Usually it _does_ get a reaction, unless it’s some other vampire who expects it at any given time. On one side she can’t help feeling intrigued, but on the other she can’t help wondering whether he has a death wish of sorts.

“I used to fight against things that pale in comparison. If you were dangerous, I’d know. And I think I’m past the point of judging anyone. You just want someone to talk to. I suppose I could use that, too.” He sounds almost as if he’s finding that out now, as he speaks. _Now_ Rebekah can’t help feeling intrigued.

“So… you, uh, fell? Or something like that?” It still feels so weird to talk in angel-terms.

“Saying falling would be underestimating it. Sometimes I wish I had stayed human the first time. It’d have been a lot easier.”

“Not saying that I don’t get it – I’d have liked to stay human at all, but since when do angels fall twice?”

He doesn’t answer at once. First he finishes his glass, then he takes a deep breath and shakes his head once. Then he looks up at her again. “I don’t think it’s a story that should be told to anyone. The consequences were already catastrophic once. The least it’s said about it, the better.”

Rebekah can understand a need to keep things secret. She calls the bartender, asks for another round of whatever he’s having for the both of them and finishes her drink before turning towards him again.

“That’s fine. No one is all sharing and caring, right? And that said, you have anything planned for tonight?” A small part of her is telling her that she’s being insane – whatever happened to him seems like a lot more than she’s equipped to deal with. But she’s still intrigued. And she still wants to go through with her previous plan.

He snorts, shaking his head. “I haven’t had _plans_ since – since this.” His hand goes to his face, brushing against the scar. “And the only three people I used to know are better off thinking that I’m dead.”

“Woah. Why?”

“I failed them. And I would only put them in danger.”

“From the way you look, I think you’re not telling me that maybe they failed you, too.”

It was a guess, to be entirely honest – it’s just that for a second the expression on his face had reminded Rebekah of Klaus the first time he ever locked her down in a coffin.

There’s nothing happy in the way he smiles at her.

“It doesn’t change that what I did was beyond forgiving.”

Rebekah would like to know what horrible thing he thinks he has done, but she lets it go. After all she belongs to a category that is made mostly of people beyond forgiving, as well. And she’s no stranger to it either. Both doing it and receiving it. “But you still wish they could have understood why you did it.”

“How would you _know_?”

She shrugs, sipping from the glass that the bartender just handed her. “Personal experience. _Recent_ personal experience. Let’s say that I trusted someone and that they – well. I understand why they played a certain trick on me but it was the last straw.”

“I could say the same,” he mutters, taking a drink from his own glass as well. “And why was it the last straw?”

She laughs, wondering why she’s spilling this to a perfect stranger who also happens to know how she feels at any damned given moment.

But it’s not as if she has better options.

“Let’s just say that when I was turned it was a long time ago. And I was young. I’ve never had a normal life. I was about to do something _normal_ for the first time in centuries. And someone took that from me because I might have been a weak spot in their carefully crafted plan to kill my brother.”

“You’d let someone kill your brother?” He sounds… strange. There’s some guilt in his eyes, but there’s also a slightly dark edge to his voice. As if he doesn’t approve, but he isn’t in a position to judge it.

“My brother killed my mother and made me believe for centuries that it had been someone else. On top of that, all the people involved in that plan, including the person who made sure that I wouldn’t do that stupid normal thing, had very good reasons to want him dead. That’s not even my business anymore. But that just _stung_. I trusted them.”

He smiles, nodding. “It was the same for me. I trusted someone. I lied to them for their own good and they couldn’t understand it.”

“Did they slam the door in your face?”

“… I don’t think I understand that reference, but if it’s a metaphor, it’s accurate.”

It occurs Rebekah that they haven’t even _exchanged names_. She chuckles and he raises an eyebrow.

“What’s so funny?”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh. Yes. I’m not used to –”

“Don’t worry. Being locked in a coffin for centuries makes you forget manners sometimes. I’m Rebekah.”

“Castiel,” he replies, cautious. He doesn’t hold out his hand, but she doesn’t need it. It’s good to have a name at all. “May I ask you a question?”

“Considering what we’ve just been talking about, just go and do it already.”

“What was that normal thing you wanted to do?”

He seems genuinely interested, she realizes. Maybe because he has some secret normal thing he has been wanting to do, too? It could be. She might as well spill at this point.

“Going to some high school dance that you do during the last year. You wear fancy clothes, put on your best make-up, find yourself a date and everything that comes with it. I’ve never done it. It’s stupid, but – that.” Now she wants to know what’s up with him though. Not to mention that she’d rather not discuss that further – said out loud, it just sounds ridiculous to get hurt over _dancing_. “And what’s your deep dark secret?”

He almost flushes, his hands playing with the empty glass as he looks down at it. Then he looks up at her again. “One of my friends – once he brought me to a den of iniquity.”

“A _what_?” She has honestly no idea what he means.

“A whorehouse.” For some reason that word just sounds wrong on his lips. “He insisted that I should – well – it seemed as if I would risk my life the next day and he found out that I had never – it didn’t pan out. But I’ve always wondered.”

“Wait. You’ve never –” She’s suddenly without words. What is she supposed to say? That she’s sorry? It sounds completely ridiculous. And to be honest she hadn’t expected _that_ to be his very dark secret. He said that he hasn’t always had that scar, so at one point he must have been _really_ good-looking, so it can’t have been because of a lack in that department. And he’s – well, she can’t believe he never had a chance to do it. Or maybe angels just aren’t into it, but then why does he look somewhat remorseful? If he hadn’t been into it, he wouldn’t have gone with his friend at all. “Well. I, uh. I guess I get your friend. Sorry that it didn’t work out.” Rebekah suddenly feels as if the entire conversation just started being completely awkward. Which is stupid – since when sex is something to be awkward about when you’ve lived as much as she has and certainly never cared much about her virtue? All right, maybe last time she was out of one coffin you just _didn’t_ talk about that in public, but it still feels surreal.

“I think that paying someone for it isn’t my thing.”

Rebekah isn’t even thinking straight when she speaks next. Or better, she doesn’t think twice before saying what comes to her.

“You know what, why don’t we make a deal?”

“A deal?” he asks, his eyes narrowing. He looks positively as if he’d like to try and kill her on the spot if the next thing she says isn’t to his liking.

“Hey, calm down! What are you even thinking?” To get so worked up he must be thinking about some kind of dangerous deal. “If you think I want to buy your soul or something like that, if one can even do it… that’s not it. I just meant… I wanted my dance. You wanted – well. Bring me dancing first and I can show you a good time later. Then we don’t even have to see each other again if you’d like it better.”

His eyes widen and he leans back a moment, looking at her as if he’s trying to assess whether she’s serious.

“We don’t look very formal.”

“Who even cares about formality anymore?” 

He glances at the other room in the bar. There’s dancing going on in there, though it’s no more than ten people total and it’s country music of the sickeningly sweet kind. They’re smack in the middle of Tennessee, she can’t hope for variety on that side.

He takes out a crumpled twenty dollar bill and puts it on the counter. “That’s for the both of us,” he tells the bartender. That’s when she notices that the bartender looks downright suspicious. Well, damn – they haven’t kept their voices much low. Fine, she thinks, that’s a problem that you solve in a second. It takes a moment of staring at him. She mouths, _let this go and forget about it_.

“What was that?” Castiel asks when he’s gone to the other side of the counter.

“Nothing very ethical, but giving ourselves out didn’t seem like a good idea. That said, I have money, just so –”

“I might not know much about how humans do this kind of thing, but it seems to me that it’s only polite if I pay for your order, too.” 

She stops dead in her tracks when he holds a hand out. There’s the same vine-shaped scarring across the palm, but it’s more delicate and fine than on his face.

“Wait, so –”

“I accept your deal. Dancing can’t be that hard.”

Rebekah takes his hand and lets him lead her towards the other room.

\--

He isn’t a bad dancer, she thinks. Obviously he has never done this before, but he has a certain gracefulness to the way he moves, and while he’s a bit stiff he never steps on her feet. His hand on her hip is barely there, just a gentle touch. It feels nice – surely nicer than being grabbed around the side. The song in the background is terrible – is all bad country music about failed love stories? – but he’s warm and he’s leading her around as if he intends to get it right. She can’t bring herself to complain.

“This music is horrible,” Castiel says when the record skips to the third song. “Don’t these people like some variety?”

She chuckles against his shoulder, her hand going to the not scarred side of his neck. “I suppose that if it sells, why should they change? The problem is that at some point they do find themselves a girlfriend and they don’t even seem like they’re sad about whatever failed love story they’re howling about.”

He hums in agreement and looks down at her before moving his hand behind her back and bringing her closer.

“You’re good at this,” she says a short while later.

“I – oh. I’m making it up as I go,” he whispers back as thankfully whoever was singing gets switched to Johnny Cash. At least someone that can sing.

“Then you have talent for this,” she answers, and she can’t help it – it really all feels so _nice_. She puts her head on his shoulder, relishing the normality of it. Maybe it’s better that they have no formal attire whatsoever – it’s more real.

When the song is over, she kisses his unscarred cheek briefly. “Thank you,” she says. “That wasn’t half bad. If you want to go, we can –”

“If you want – if you wish to do another round, it’s all right. I’m in no hurry.” His face and his voice say two different things. He looks more relaxed than he was at the counter, and as if he’s liking this a lot more than he should, but the way he talks, it seems as if he’s not sure of what’s the etiquette in these cases.

Johnny Cash doesn’t turn back into Kenny Rogers and Rebekah figures that maybe, if he’s willing, why not?

She gives him a nod and his hand covers the small of her back again, and she thinks that this might be the only good deal she can remember making in a long time. 

\--

When they walk out of the bar, she stops at the first hotel she sees that looks promising enough. Promising enough meaning without beetles in the bathtub or under the bed – now that’d be a turn-off. True, she’d have liked a nice suite in a four-star hotel better and she could have compelled the staff since she isn’t exactly high on resources. But he hadn’t seemed to approve much when she compelled the bartender, and if the bed is comfortable… it’s not as if they need much more. She can adapt for once. He follows her lead, shrugging and saying that she can choose, anything will be fine. She’s pleased with herself when she realizes that she picked a decent place. The bed is on the large side, the mattress isn’t uncomfortable, there’s lavender under the pillows and the bathroom is clean. Not bad at all.

He stands near to the door, as if he has no idea of what he should do. He takes off a battered dark trench coat that definitely comes from a Salvation Army store, folds it and places it on a chair nearby. Other than that, he doesn’t move an inch. He stares down at the thing, his eyes narrowing.

Rebekah has this feeling that she’ll be the one doing most of the work. Then again he did something nice for her; she’ll do something nice for him.

It’s so simple it’s almost refreshing.

She stands up, taking off her own jacket and throwing it towards the corner. She moves closer, until she’s a few inches from him, and eyes him all over again. He’s wearing worn out jeans and a clean but rumpled dress shirt. She reaches out, her hand on the scarred side of his face. It feels rough, but that’s it. She wonders if it hurts, but she doesn’t ask. If he doesn’t want to talk about how he got it, then asking about it would ruin the mood before they even begin.

“I think,” she says, “that someone needs to get this party started.”

He nods, licking his dry lips for a split second, and then she decides that she’s done waiting.

She moves forward and kisses him, keeping it strictly chaste at the beginning just to taste the waters and see how he reacts; she doesn’t have to wait too long, though, because then he parts his lips, tentatively, and she’s quick in taking advantage. In a second she has his back against the wall and her tongue is rolling against his, tasting whiskey. He moans and follows her lead, letting her set the pace. Then one of his calves hooks around hers, bringing their bodies closer together. His hands go from completely useless at his sides to cupping the back of her head and neck hesitantly, as if he isn’t sure of where he should put his hands.

It’s nice, she thinks, being touched this carefully. Almost like he had while they were dancing. She’s torn between just getting down to it and keep on with the kissing – he doesn’t seem to have hang-ups with that part for sure.

When they part, he’s breathless, his eyes wide, his hair even more tousled because of her hands running through it. His whole cheek is flushed, and Rebekah can’t help finding it at least a bit endearing. Not to mention that his cock is slowly stirring – she can feel it against her bare leg, under the skirt she’s wearing. She should take it off – it’s in the way. She reaches up, running her thumb along his brow and the not-scarred side of his face.

“I’d say that you’ve got the preliminaries down pat,” she whispers. “But I was wondering if you wanted to spice it up.”

“Spice it up?” he asks, breathless, as if it’s a completely alien request.

“You know. Vampire here. I’ve been told that if I bite you, it feels even better. We can do it or not – your pick. Nothing more than that though.”

He looks at her for a second as if the request troubled him, but then his eyes narrow, his hands move to her hips, and when he answers it’s against her mouth.

“Why not. It’s not as if I have much to lose if I try.” His tone is neutral – it really sounds as if it doesn’t matter either way. She doesn’t feel offended though – he’ll see soon enough that there’s a difference indeed.

“You could work with a bit more enthusiasm,” she replies, but then she doesn’t let him answer and kisses him again. This time he’s _wild_ , though; he keeps up with her, kisses her back fiercely, his hands pulling at her hair in a way that is everything but hurtful. They stumble to the bed, still kissing until he breaks away for air. His cock is hard against her thigh now, his pupils slightly larger. _I’d like to eat him up_ , Rebekah thinks, unable to stop herself; and then… well, he did give her permission after all. 

But all in good time.

She smirks before flipping the both of them over, her hands pinning him down to the mattress, her feet on his ankles. 

“Good,” she whispers, running her tongue against the hollow of his throat. He gasps, but he doesn’t jerk back from her. He doesn’t offer his neck either, but she’ll put a remedy to it soon enough. She tries to take off his belt, but not seeing it is making things too complicated, so she leans back, her knees still on his side, and gets rid of it. When she pulls down his jeans he sighs in relief and when she closes her hand around his cock while leaning back down he makes a sound that’s _this_ close to a whimper. 

Rebekah doesn’t mind it one second.

“I’m – I’m starting to understand the point of this,” he says, sounding out of breath, his voice so low that it’s barely audible. 

“In a second you might change your mind,” she says. She had thought to take it a bit slower but she isn’t sure that she can resist. Her fingers start jerking him off. She still tries to keep it slow and nice rather than hurried – she knows exactly how she wants this to go and she only needs to work him up enough to keep him on edge for a bit. His hips jerk up, searching friction, and she searches for his mouth again. He kisses back, hardly refined, his hands still pulling on her hair as she keeps on giving his cock long, slow strokes. She keeps on doing it until he’s fully hard against her hand, leaking over her palm; when she takes it away, he legitimately whimpers in her mouth in protest.

“Oh, don’t be like that. I’m barely started yet,” she whispers in his ear before grasping his earlobe with her teeth for a second and leaning back. She sits at the corner of the bed and gets rid of her panties and skirt before moving in her previous position again; his eyes are dark blue where they aren’t pupil and he’s panting hard enough that she could hear it from the other side of the room. Even without having vampire hearing.

When she puts her knees around his thighs, she’s surprised when he moves a hand and sits up, touching her inner thigh. He looks as if he isn’t too sure of what the hell he’s about to do or if he can touch at all. So she brings an arm around his neck and moves closer.

“By all means,” she says. “It goes both ways.” 

“Good,” he replies, not wasting words, and then hand moves up, his fingers trailing quickly along her thigh before reaching forward and tracing her clit once, twice. She was wet before but now that he’s touching her _there_ she can’t help pressing back against his fingers, sighing when he bends two and pushes them inside her. It’s slightly tentative, but not unsure; it’s as if he wants to do it but he wants to be sure to get it right. _Cute_ , she can’t help thinking before thrusting down and moaning when his fingers go farther in.

He has talent for this, too, she decides as he gets slightly bolder and starts moving his fingers faster; and she’d let him finish if this entire thing wasn’t supposed to be about him.

Though right now she’s maybe hoping that he wants at least to do it again another time before they go their separate ways – if he is fine with this, then he might be fine with using his tongue instead of his fingers, and Rebekah thinks she’d like to try _that_ a lot. 

But as stated, this isn’t supposed to be about her.

She moves away slowly, and pushes him back down on the pillows.

“I think,” she says, “that it’s time we get down to business.”

“Wasn’t that… business?”

“Sure, but the point wasn’t getting me laid,” she replies, and then she flips them over so that he’s on top of her; before he can react, she rips off his already half-ruined shirt and throws it on the ground. She runs her hands behind his back – there are some random scars that she can’t see.

“Well then, go. I’m waiting.”

She spreads her legs as he slowly, carefully enters her. He keeps his eyes closed as he pushes in, still making sure that he isn’t going too fast. He’s biting his bottom lip, obviously trying not to be too loud. Maybe he’s even thinking of whoever’s sleeping next door. Admirable, she thinks, but it’s not really the point. And she does like his voice – it’s a pity that he’s putting that much effort into it.

“You know,” she says, “I’m not made of glass.”

She hooks her legs around his waist and brings him down, forcing him to push as deep as he can. Having vampire strength _can_ be useful.

Whatever he says after isn’t intelligible – he starts murmuring in what seems another language altogether as he starts fucking her in earnest. When he speeds up she hums in encouragement, eyeing the side of his neck not covered in fine, red vines. It’s pale, arched forward, and she can feel the blood thrumming underneath, and she thinks that maybe it’s time. She reaches up, runs her thumb along it as he thrusts deep inside her and then she moves forward. She gives him time to lean back if he changes his mind, but he doesn’t.

She has no excuse to postpone it any longer, does she?

She flips them over so that she’s on top again and closes that couple of inches of distance and bites.

She doesn’t bite too hard, just enough to break skin – she has stolen a couple of bags from a hospital this morning, but if she drinks too much she might still lose control – but it does the trick. He moans so loud that she thinks they might have heard him at the reception desk (and isn’t that a satisfaction). When he attempts to get on top again she lets him even if she could have stopped him at any second, and he doesn’t say no when she runs her tongue along the bite and sucks lightly on it. Maybe it’s the bite, maybe it’s that specific thing, but he loses it completely. As soon as it happens – his previous composure is gone. He keeps a steady rhythm, less feverish than before but also less careful. It’s as if right now he doesn’t really care whether she needs time or not, and it’s a good thing because she was just waiting for it. Rebekah keeps her legs where they are, encouraging him to keep on, and when they kiss and he tastes his blood on her teeth he runs his tongue over them. 

He definitely wasted talent if this is the first time he does this, she thinks, and then one of his hands is cupping her breast, his thumb kneading the base of it under her shirt – somehow she hasn’t lost it yet –   
and she decides that she’s done thinking. From then on it’s all messy kisses and the bed slightly creaking and blood staining the sheets until he stills for a second and comes inside her as she tightens her legs behind his back. She follows suit, the blissed expression on his face sending her over the edge, and when he falls down on top of her she barely feels his weight.

\--

“Thank you,” he says a while later, when they’re lying on the bed, near though not touching.

“Believe me, that was no hardship whatsoever,” she replies as she leans back against the headboard. Now that she has a good look at him, she notices that the vine-shaped scar covers his frame until just below his nipple. She wonders what happened to him, but doesn’t ask. She has learned to mind her own business.

“I understand a lot of things now.” He’s talking more to himself than to her, his hand touching the bite mark on his neck.

“Happy to have helped. Listen, do you have anywhere to be?”

“Not strictly. Not for now. Why?”

“Well,” Rebekah starts, figuring that maybe it’s worth a shot, “I was thinking. Check out is at midday. We still have six hours. Let’s make another deal?”

He tilts his head to the left, his eyes widening. He moves closer, enough that their shoulders would touch if any of them moved even just slightly.

“And what would that be?”

“Oh, the same as this last evening, just without one half of it. We could… do this again. You have definitely some talent. It’d be just a pity to waste it.”

Castiel gives her a small shrug, but he doesn’t refuse.

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t say yes. I think I would like to do it again. Is there something you had in mind?”

“Definitely,” she breathes out, licking her lips once. “And if there’s something you have in mind, by all means.”

“It seems to me that if you already know, I could hear your suggestions first.”

“That can definitely be arranged,” she whispers as she leans back further against the headboard. He understands the point and gets in her former position – his knees around her thighs. His hand goes to her cheek, his thumb trailing along her bottom lip before he leans down and kisses her again.

Rebekah thinks that she’ll wait a bit before giving him specific instructions of what exactly she wants him to do. He’s good at kissing, and she hasn’t kissed anyone like this in a long time. She might as well enjoy the ride.

If she likes how his hands feel against her hips, if for a second she’s grateful to be with someone who has no interest in lying to her, if maybe she shouldn’t let her guard down this much… she’s past caring. And if he won’t share his secrets, that’s fine as well – it has nothing to do with what they’re doing. About what they’re doing, what is making it feel better than a random one night stand might have is that he’s into this as much as she is. She can read it all in the way he looks at her. 

As she runs her tongue around his already mostly healed bite wound, she thinks that he had tasted strange, not exactly the same as regular human blood, but it’s a good kind of different.

He said that he used to be an angel.

There’s nothing angelic about the things he’s doing with his hands or his tongue, but all the same Rebekah finds herself thinking that it makes a strange kind of sense.

As she tells him what she wants exactly and he starts moving down the bed without hesitating at the suggestion, she shivers and thinks that this really was the best deal she has made in a very long time.


End file.
